


oh, the things we invent when we are scared and want to be rescued.

by skuulduggery (killewich)



Series: skuulduggery tumblr drabbles / one - shot replies [2]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Blood and Gore, Gen, References to Drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-07 10:07:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19207186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killewich/pseuds/skuulduggery
Summary: his battery is changed.





	oh, the things we invent when we are scared and want to be rescued.

in what feels like a fever dream, he’s saved with a knife to his throat.

he knows it’s the drugs ( which one, he doesn’t ), knows that it’s been about three weeks and nobody has come for him. he’s hyper - aware of his neck injury, that’s all; it’s wishful thinking and an overactive imagination. his eyes roll back and he sees the backs of his sockets, he’s sure that’s what the blackness and spotted color has to be. reality melts way to delusion, and his grasp on consciousness is as good as sand through the cracks of his fingers. the last thing he’s certain of is his flushed face and a slackened jaw.

he’s facing the opposite direction when the blade bites into his tanned flesh, and it has the audacity to drink from the wound as it strays there— he can feel it, the warmth is drained from the cut, spilling carelessly over the weapon and it’s holder. he doesn’t bother crying out; he knows his notes would be cut short as the cords are severed in the mess of sinew and red. instead, he croaks wordlessly an utterance of gratitude to his hidden assassin. a familiar chill settles from his scalp down, and he smiles: death’s embrace has never been kinder. he can feel the color seep from his skin as the purest black fills his vision to compensate.

he comes to with a starving gasp for air, brain suffocated by his numb and lazy tongue. his temples pound, and the light of the infirmary washes over sensitive, blood - shot eyes. he’s too late to stop the groan of realization that slips out.

❝ Guten Morgen. Mmm . . . your vacation was shorter this time, ja? ❞

he screws his eyes shut and breathes weakly through his nose. he doesn’t bother giving an affirmative, he can hear a pen scrawling at paper anyway. his eyelids flutter open several times, sockets feeling as if they’d rupture. ludwig hums softly to himself, but spy can feel it reverberating against the inside of his skull, and he does everything in his power to try and move. his skin at the surface level is crawling like an asleep limb, and he briefly loses control of his mouth and facial features. it’s as if he short circuits momentarily, and everything goes still and frigid—

his battery is changed.

he would have appreciated it during his concussed state, but that wouldn’t give any visual reaction that could be recorded ( the fact that his brain finishes this thought in the other’s tone grows chills on the back of his neck ).

he’s never been electrocuted before, but he imagines it’s on par to the same feeling he gets when he’s ‛ on ’ and live again. there’s blood in his mouth, and he realizes he’s bit his tongue. he remembers a fraction of the seizure - like reaction immediately after, eyes falling shut. he’s worn, his high escaping him and leaving behind a grogginess he can’t fight.

he’s stuck somewhere unconscious when the infirmary lights turn off for the night, its owner tutting and shaking his head before closing the door in his wake.

**Author's Note:**

> this was a response to an ask prompt from the red medic i was rping with at the time ! !


End file.
